


The Name Game

by sunkelles



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 5 + 2 Things, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Good Parent Grace Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves-centric, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: When you program a robot with the commands "Be A Good Mother" and "Be Subservient to a Bad Father", you're going to end up with some internal conflict, especially when you end up with some free will creeping in there too.or 5 Umbrella kids who came to ask Grace for their names +2 who didn't
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	The Name Game

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas, chelle! i hope that you enjoy this last present ;)

1\. Ben 

The day that her children start asking for names starts like any other day. Grace charges in her painting room. She gets up and makes breakfast, and gets the kids ready to go to training. Then afterwards they return to their rooms for independent study time. 

  
The children are always allowed to ask for help with their school work, but they don’t tend to. Grace has gathered that it’s because the ones who _do_ study are too proud and the ones who don’t are goofing around. So Grace wanders the hallways, waiting for her children to seek out the help that they never try for. 

Except for today. She hears footsteps behind her, and turns abruptly around. She spots Number Six walking nervously towards her. He's at an awkward spot in between growth spurts where his arms seem too long and his limbs seem too thin. At ten years old, some of her children look almost look like teenagers and some of them look like little kids. Number Six somehow looks like both at once.

“Are you alright, Number Six?” she asks. He opens his mouth. Then he closes it. 

“Do you need help with your school work?” she asks. 

Number Six shakes his head no. 

“Is it something else?” Grace guesses. Number Six comes closer. He looks up at her. Then he looks away. She considers prompting him again before he clears his throat professionally, much like his father does before making a big pronouncement.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Number Six says, digging his hands into his pockets. He looks up at her again, finally making eye contact. He takes a deep breath. It looks like he’s building up to _something_ , but he’s not quite sure how to start. 

“What have you been thinking about?” Grace prompts. 

“Dad has a name. Pogo has a name. _You_ have a name,” Number Six points out.

Grace nods. “That is correct.” 

“Why don’t _we_ have names?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” Grace says. The children’s father has never seen fit to share things with her beyond her programming, so she doesn’t know why they don’t have names. 

“But everyone else has names. Don’t you think we should?” he asks. He looks desperate, almost. The sort of thing that her programming says that she’s supposed to soothe away so that they can get back to work. 

“Do you _want_ a name?” she asks. Number Six nods his head. She waits for him to continue, but is greeted with silence. He just looks at her expectantly.

“Do you have any ideas? I don’t see why you can’t choose one.” 

Number Six frowns. “You’re not supposed to choose your own name. That’s something that parents do.”

 _Oh,_ Grace thinks. Her circuits seem to slot into place as she realizes what he’s asking. “You want me to come up with your name?”

Number Six smiles. “Please?” 

“Names are important,” she agrees. Grace knows that there are intricacies involved with the process- name meanings and sound preferences and word origins and personality and gender variations. She knows many things from her programming and has learned some things from her interactions, but she doesn’t know all that much about names.

She doesn’t even have that many stored in her internal data. She knows Reginald, and Pogo, and some famous inventors and writers and things to help her kids with homework, but that’s about it. Number Six is no Pogo, and she can't exactly name him after Reginald. Grace knows that there are cultural.. connotations that come along with naming a child after a parent. Number Six wouldn’t want that, and she thinks that Reginald might not like it either. 

She wouldn’t know where to start with choosing an inventor or writer to name him after because all of those come with baggage and strange implications and many of them aren’t very “normal” for the American society that they live in. She doesn’t want anyone to make fun of her baby. Number Six is too sweet for her to open him up to something like that. 

Wait. There _is_ one name that she knows, one without baggage from a normal, every day person. A very nice man who treated her well. She thinks of that nice man with the Southern accent that she met at the grocery store who said that she must be a very good mom, keeping all those children safe as their dad throws them into danger. His name was- 

“Ben,” Grace says, “that’s my favorite name. Would you like that one?” When Number Six smiles, his cheeks look a little like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz.

“Yes,” he says, “I want to be Ben.” His dark brown eyes twinkle, and then he reaches forward to hug her. He’s still short enough that he only reaches the top of her stomach, but it’s a tight feeling. It’s not warm and soft the way that it feels for humans, but it’s not unpleasant. She knows that kids need this kind of physical affection. All of the parenting books she’s read say so. 

She wraps her arms around him a little tighter, and Ben hugs right back. 

  
  


2\. Diego 

Grace knows that all her children love her. The parenting books that she’s read say that it’s hard for children _not_ to love their parents, even when it’s bad for them. And Grace knows that she’s the more stable parental presence in their lives. It may not be in Grace’s programming to think poorly of Reginald, but she knows that she was programmed to be the ideal mother. 

Reginald is flesh and blood, and he has a brain instead of a central processor. He has his own thoughts instead of programming, and his thoughts aren’t all centered around how to be a good father the way that hers are centered around how to be a good mother. That explains the discrepancy, she’s sure. It’s just that he’s more than a father but she’s not more than a mother. That has to be it. Grace knows it.

She also knows that while all of her children love her, Number Two loves her most. He’s what the parenting books call a “mama’s boy”. He brings her gifts, comes to her expecting hugs, tries to check in on her, and whenever he sneaks a little of his favorite snack from the kitchen he'll give her a little of it "just in case".

Grace doesn’t eat things, or care about what her clothing looks like, but she always smiles as she accepts Number Two’s gifts. She knows that he’s just trying to make her happy, and sometimes he gives her something that she can put up in the area where she charges. She likes looking at his gifts there almost as much as she likes looking at her paintings.

So. All of that's to say that Grace isn't surprised when a few weeks after naming Ben, Number Two comes bounding down the hallway to find her during independent study time. He always tries to "sneak up" on her to hug her from the back. Grace's senses are too good not to notice, but she'll always pretend to be surprised. This time when she feels his little arms wrap around her waist from behind she pretends to gasp.

"Is that Number Two?" she asks. Number Two tilts his head up around her side to grin up at her.

"Who else?" he asks, grin widening. Grace reaches down to gently pry his arms off and take a step forward. His face falls as he steps in front of her to make sure that she doesn't leave. 

"What's wrong?" she asks.

“Number Six says his name is Ben now,” Number Two says, pouting out his lip and crossing his arms over his chest. His tone of voice is also low. Oh, he’s _grumpy_. A grumpy Number Two is never a good thing. When Number Two is grumpy he picks fights with the other children. 

“It is,” Grace says. 

“Why c-can’t I h-have a name!?!” Number Two demands. 

“I didn’t decide that Ben is the only one who gets a name,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you can have one too. If you want.” Number Two smiles cautiously. 

“Do you want anything specific?” Grace asks. When Ben had first asked her, she’d been caught off guard. She didn’t give it nearly the thought that it deserved. She can’t promise she’ll give Number Two the thought that he deserves, but she can promise that she'll try. 

“I want a Spanish name,” he says. 

Grace frowns. “A Spanish name?” Why would he want a _Spanish_ name? 

“Because where I’m from speaks Spanish, r-right?” he asks. Whenever he’s feeling nervous, his stutter creeps in more heavily. 

Grace searches through her mental data about the siblings, and finds that- yes. Number Two was discovered in Mexico, so they did speak Spanish. It's strange that her mental data just says “Mexico” for Number Two, though. She knows that the data for the rest of them includes country, province, and even town. If she remembers right, Number Seven’s data even includes the address of the swimming pool she was born in. 

Grace decides that whatever that means, it’s not something that Number Two needs to hear. 

“Yes, that’s right.” So Number Two smiles and looks at her expectantly. Oh, he wants one _right now._

Grace doesn’t know a whole lot of “Spanish” names. Frankly, she doesn’t know that many names in general. She rakes her memory for any times that she’s talked to Spanish speakers, or even seen people on _television_ who speak Spanish. 

Oh! She remembers seeing a show a time or two with characters who speak Spanish. She walked in on Number Four and Ben watching one directed at children a few times during their allotted free time. They wouldn't stop cracking jokes about it. _Dora the Explorer_ was about a little girl who went on adventures with a map, a monkey named Boots, and a backpack and the show taught a few Spanish words along the way. 

She certainly can’t name Number Two Dora… or Boots. She does remember a little boy from an episode or two, though. What was the name of Dora’s cousin that had been around in that one episode? He had a nice name. He was also an adventurer. She thinks that Number Two would like that. 

“How about Diego?” Grace asks. Judging by Number Two’s smile, she’s found a winner. He lunges forward, and wraps his arms around her middle. Number Two is only about a head shorter than her now, and his head nestles into her collarbone as he hugs. 

Oh, he might just stand here hugging her for a while. Okay. Grace doesn’t really get anything out of it, but she’s not about to complain. If Diego is happy with his new name, that’s really all that matters. 

3\. Allison 

  
  


Grace starts looking into names after Diego asks for his. Once is an isolated incident, twice is a coincidence, but a coincidence can turn into a pattern quickly enough. Grace isn’t going to be caught unawares if one of her other children comes looking for a name. 

She downloads hundreds of books of baby names into her system. She studies the naming systems and common names and name associations of many different cultures. 

_Pogo, did you know that in Iceland your name would be Pogo Reginaldson? You’d share that with all the boys, but the girls would be Reginaldsdottir? Isn’t that interesting?_

_Yes, Grace._

Pogo's response was patronizing. Grace doesn’t understand the intricacies of human (primate?) interaction, but she knows that. She decides to keep her discoveries to herself after that.

Number Three is difficult to choose for. If Grace wanted a name from Number Three's original homeland… that would be almost impossible for Grace to procure for her. Even if Grace knew who her mother was (she doesn’t) she would still have to figure out if Number Three’s ancestors were willing immigrants to the United States whose movement she could track, or enslaved people brought over so long ago that had their history stolen from them along with their freedom.

It’s a lot more likely that it’s the second one. There are so many different African languages and cultures and peoples and possibilities that the idea of searching through all of them seems… overwhelming. She thinks that it would be overwhelming for Number Three too. But, she digs, and she digs, and she digs. She finds a few suitable names from there, but she finds a few favorite names that are common in the United States as well. 

Allison is pretty, and it means “noble”. Grace thinks that it would keep her daughter striving to be good, which is what heroes are supposed to do. (Even though their father seems to think that they need to strive to be obedient.)

So, Grace comes up with a few names scattered across Africa with beautiful meanings and sounds as options, and the name Allison. She likes the nickname Ally. She wonders if her daughter will spell it with a y or an ie or maybe she won’t even use it at all. 

There’s so many options. It’s making her giddy. (It’s making her nervous.) 

When Number Three comes to her, Grace is gently dusting the paintings in the room where she “sleeps” to make sure that they’re clean and bright for her charging session tonight. Grace feels a tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see Number Three looking up at her expectantly. 

“Hi mom,” she says. 

“Hello Number Three,” Grace says. She places the duster on her chair, and glances back at her daughter.

“What do you need?” Grace asks. Whatever it is, Grace can get it for her. She’s even prepared with a hard drive full of names. 

“Number Six and Number Two got names from you. I want one too.” 

Grace feels a grin spread across her face “Of course! I’ve been working on names for all of you.” Grace gestures to her gray couch. 

“Please, sit down,” she says, “I need to get my tablet out. I have a whole folder full of possible names for you.” Number Three’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“A folder full?” she asks. 

“I suspected that the rest of you would be coming for names soon,” she says, “I wanted to give you some say.” Number Three’s lips quirk up, and then she sits right down on the couch. Grace kneels down on the floor to open the bottom of the couch. Then, she slides her tablet out and ignites the screen. She scrolls through a few pages to find her folder with possible names for Number Three. 

She slides it onto Number Three’s lap, and then sits down beside her. She leans close to her and looks over her shoulder. Number Three’s lips aren’t quirked up in a smile, but disgust. 

“You don’t like them,” she says softly. 

“Uh,” Number Three says, “it’s just. There’s a lot.” She still seems frustrated, and a little grossed out. 

“There’s more to why you're upset.” Grace doesn’t know why Number Three is unhappy, but she can tell that she is. 

“These names are weird.” 

“You’re in the African section right now,” Grace says, “I wanted to give you some options there, but I suppose they’re… uncommon here.”

“I don’t want anything weird,” Number Three says firmly. Grace nods. She might be disappointed, but she’s not surprised. African names _are_ uncommon here. Grace reaches into Number Three’s lap and grabs the pad. Then, she scrolls through her list all the way to the bottom. 

She holds down on the name and lets the highlighter tool turn the words bright yellow. 

“Allison?” Number Three asks. 

“It means noble and kind,” Grace says, “I think those are good things to be.” Number Three puts her hands together and leans her face onto them. She’s covering her mouth with her hands. Grace can still see the nervous lines creeping up her forehead. 

“Do you think that I’m those things?” she asks softly. 

“Yes, I do.” Grace looks over. She sees her daughter move her hands down underneath her chin. Number Three's lips creep into a soft smile. 

“Then I’ll be Allison,” her daughter says. Allison leans her head against Grace’s shoulder. 

Grace still can’t feel sensations, but she knows that physical comfort is good for her kids. So she puts her arm over Allison’s shoulders and gently rubs circles into her shoulder blade. They stay like that about four minutes before the mission alarm rings and Allison has to rush off to save the world. 

“I’ve gotta go,” Allison says. 

“Goodbye, Allison,” Grace says. Allison smiles widely and skips off to her room. 

Grace plugs her charger in, and watches her paintings. She wishes that Allison were still here to join her. 

4\. Klaus

  
  


Number Four is a bit of a difficult case when it comes to names. Ben’s name had come to her immediately- Diego’s had been an accident, and Allison’s had been a favorite of hers. Number Four might require a bit more thought. 

Since Reginald got Klaus from East Germany (a few days after the wall came down and the children were… a month and a half old) that means that German names are on the table. 

Grace doesn’t find that she loves German names. They also aren’t common in the United States. They would be more common than the African names that she had picked out for Allison to choose from, but none of them are as common as something like Allison or Ben. There’s also something that feels a bit _wrong_ to her ear when it’s set to English, and it’s hard to keep searching when she keeps coming up blank. 

  
She keeps searching, but this time she tries searching by name meaning instead of origin. Still, none of them are _right._

Grace could have seen Allison with any number of the names that she’d chosen, but none of these are right for Number Four. Not even a little bit. 

It’s quite frustrating, trying to name a person who’s already so _formed_. She suspects that’s why most cultures assign names as babies, because babies are tiny little blank slates. People don’t have to think about how there’s no similarity between a name meaning and a person when that person is a baby. 

So Grace starts searching other outlets. She searches her database for movies, TV shows, books, plays, graphic novels, novellas, ANYTHING that might have a character that seems like him or a name that properly fits him.

The children are twelve, now, and their training is heating up and puberty and identity development is just starting to settle in. Number Four in particular has started avoiding using his powers, fighting off his father at every opportunity he can and trying his hardest not to summon ghosts at all. Grace can't tell if ghosts scare him or sadden him, but either way, it's an aspect of himself that he's coming to dislike.

Still, Grace comes up short. That is, until she comes across a little series of books called _A Series of Unfortunate Events._ It's about a trio of children who go through terrible things, but through their resourcefulness they always end up getting through them. Grace knows that she shouldn't let illustrations of all things influence her decisions, but she can't deny that the little drawing of Klaus Baudelaire with his mousey brown hair and his pensive smile doesn't hurt the association with her son. 

She likes the character a lot too- a resourceful, kind little boy who's making the best of his terrible situation. The name is even _German._

The books are unique, dark, and hopeful- even a little cartoonish, which honestly fits Number Four better than anything else. The parenting books would certainly call Number Four her "class clown". He needs a name that he won't share with lots of other people, and Grace feels like she did a good job picking this one.

Number Four takes his sweet time coming around to ask her for a name. When he does, he tries to be very casual about it too. He leans against the wall and tries to pretend that he's not even paying attention to her. That's a little ridiculous, because they both know he wouldn't be standing in the room where she charges if he weren't seeking her out. She still lets him pretend.

"Number Four?" she asks, "what brings you here?"

"I was just, uh, around," he says.

Grace nods indulgently. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"So, that name thing," Number Four says, "I was wondering if you had one for me? You know, just to see.""

"I do, actually," Grace says, "my thought is Klaus." His eyebrows furrow.

“After the kid in _A Series of Unfortunate Events_? Those kids books where everything sucks?” Number Four asks. 

“Yes.” 

Number Four sends her a cautious look as he asks,“Why?” 

“Klaus Bauldelaire isn’t just his bad luck, and you aren’t just your powers.” Number Four’s eyes widen, and then he just stares. 

“What do you think?”

“Uh, thanks, mom,” he says. 

"Oh," she says, "you don't like it." She feels like she's done something terrible wrong. She feels her processing unit work frantically fast, digging through her data for another suitable suggestion.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “I like it. It’s pretty metal.”

"I'm metal," she says, "I'm not sure if your name is." Klaus shakes his head.

"No, I meant-" he cuts himself off, shaking himself, "you know what? Never mind. Thanks mom." He sends her a quick smile as he nearly runs through the hallway. It's strange to see Klaus running, as he's tried to get get out of running for training for years now, but Grace isn't complaining. It wasn't the strangest part of that interaction.

He doesn’t hug her. That is the strangest part, because Klaus is a hugger and this is normally a situation where Grace will receive hugs. She simply smiles and nods, though. Whatever feelings Klaus is going through are not for her to understand. Humanity is complex and confusing, and Grace has given up trying to understand her children. She’s just going to love them instead. 

5\. Vanya

Number Seven might come last in the number order, but Number Seven was her _first_ baby. There's a special place in her central processing unit for her first baby. Grace decides that she has to find something perfect for her. Something that will make her feel understood and loved.

She starts with the meaning this time: names that are dripping with love. Then, she narrows them down to ones that sound as loving as they are. Then, she's left with a few that she loves with soft, adoring meanings. She ends up liking "Vanya" the best, both because it alliterates with violin and because it's Russian. Maybe those aren't the most reasonable reasons for choosing a name, but Grace has found that her programming has gotten less logical as time has gone on. 

Sometimes things just seem right, and this particular name is one of them.

Grace glances over to the noise and spots Number Seven. She's clutching her violin and bow in one hand. In the other hand, she has her music book wrapped around the stem of her black, metal music stand. 

"Is it alright if I practice here?" Number Seven asks. 

Grace smiles. "Of course, darling." Number Seven nods. She places her music stand on the ground and adjusts her sheets. Then, she places her violin to her face and starts bowing. The song flows easily out of her instrument, bow gliding across the strings. Grace listens contentedly for a minute before Number Seven hits a patch where a note comes out wrong. She grunts, then starts the section again.

The wrong note happens. Number Seven grunts and tries again. This time, she screams. Her face turns bright red in embarrassment when she looks over to Grace.

"I am so sorry," she says, "I just- I got so mad."

"Did you check the key signature?" Grace asks

"Of course I-" Number Seven glances down, "Oh."

"What did you notice?" Grace asks kindly.

"This section's A major- not D major." That means that there was an extra sharp that Number Seven wasn't factoring in. Her shoulders fall, but she steels her face as she takes a breath. Then, she starts playing the section again. This time the note rolls easily off her fingers. She finishes the piece smoothly and smiles at her mother when she's done. Grace claps for her daughter's impromptu concert. 

"A wonderful concert, darling," she says. Number Seven smiles softly.

"Thanks mom," she says, "I just kinda wish I could have a real one. With programs, names, stuff like that. But I guess we can't." 

"Names?" Grace asks expectantly.

"You gave some of my siblings names," Number Seven says cautiously.

"I did," Grace chirps.

"And I wasn't sure if I wasn't allowed one because. Uh. I'm not _really_ part of the, you know," Number Seven trails off awkwardly at the end. Grace feels a surge of protective anger rear up in her motherly programming.

"Of course you're allowed one," Grace says, reaching behind herself to gently remove her chords, "I already have one picked out for you." Number Seven's eyes widen.

"You do?" she asks. Grace smiles as she takes a step forward.

"I do. I was thinking that you should be Vanya." Number Seven smiles, her eyes wetting.

"I like that," she says softly, without even asking the meaning.

“It means gracious gift of god," Grace says, just so that Vanya knows. She thinks that it's important that Vanya know that. The tears form in earnest, then.

"Do you really mean that?" she asks.

“I do not believe in god,” Grace says, “but I believe that you are a gift.” Number Seven is _not_ a hugger, but she sets her violin on top of the music stand and throws herself into Grace's arms. Her head reaches her metal collarbone, tears falling right into Grace's dress. Vanya hugs her as tightly as she can and she cries and cries and cries. It’s a good thing that Reginald fixed her water-logging issue or Grace would be out of commission for a week after all of this water finally leaks through her dress. 

"I'm not a gift," Vanya mumbles, but she keeps holding onto Grace's side.

“You are," Grace promises.

"But I'm not special," she says.

“You are special to _me_ , Vanya,” Grace promises. Vanya sniffles.

"But dad says-"

"Your father is-" In that moment, Grace realizes something: sometimes, Reginald Hargreeves is _wrong_. That's the word that she wants to say next. She wants to say that he's wrong, but her voice won't work. She tries to say the word again. And then tries to say "incorrect" and then a hundred different synonyms for wrong in as many different languages.

Her voice box won't make any of those words for her. Her programming holds her body hostage, and Grace cannot say the words that she thinks.

"Father is what?" Vanya asks, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes. It's a strange thing, to be able to think things but not being physically able to say them. Grace wonders if that's some kind of evolution. She's certain that the free thought wasn't programmed into her. Reginald would never have wanted that.

"Never mind that," Grace says, because she doesn't think there's anyway she can finish this thought even if she wanted to, "just know that I love you, Vanya." She’s not sure if it’s the way that humans love, but she knows that it’s the closest that she’s ever going to get. Vanya just holds her tighter, hugging her like she's a precious resource that's about to be stolen away for good. Grace, however, has no plans of moving until Vanya is ready to let go.

Reginald may come and force them apart, but Grace isn't about to pry her crying daughter off of her when she needs the comfort. In the middle of her programming, she can have this little defiance.

\+ 1. Luther

  
  
  


Months pass after Number Seven becomes Vanya, and neither Number One nor Number Five seeks her out. Grace has begun to feel… antsy. She’s already picked out names for both of them, so she doesn’t know why they haven’t followed their siblings. 

Is it just that they’re too nervous to ask her? She knows that different humans have different comfort levels asking for what they want. She also knows that Reginald hasn’t exactly given them the tools they need to be skilled in that area. 

He hasn't yelled at them, has he? A cold feeling settles over her; it's not as though she could do anything about it if he did.

Grace decides to stop worrying about it. Instead, she'll just seek her children out to speak to them about it herself.

“Number One?” Grace calls. Number One freezes, then turns around to look at her. 

“Yes mom?” Grace folds her hands in front of her. 

“Would you like a name?” she asks. Number One just blinks at her. 

Grace unfolds her hands and smooths out her skirt. “Would you like a name, Number One?” 

“You mean like how Number Three is Allison now?” he asks. Grace smiles softly. It doesn’t surprise her that he focused in on Allison- it seems that Number One doesn’t pay much attention to anyone else. 

“Yes, just like Allison."

“Has he gotten mad at the rest of your siblings?” Grace asks. Number One frowns. 

“I don’t think so.” Grace puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Then why would he get mad at you?” she prompts. 

Number One looks down at the ground. Then, he glances cautiously up at her. “Do you have a name for me?”

“I do.” 

His lips perk up. “What is it?” 

“Luther.” 

Number One’s eyebrows travel down his face as he purses his lips. “After Martin Luther King Junior?” As Grace processes that information, it feels a little like what happens when her wires need repairing and her power sparks in and out. It’s- what?

He assumes- what? 

The knowledge is disjointed and illogical and oh so wrong. Grace really doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“That’s a strange choice,” he says. Grace means to tell him that it isn’t her choice at all, but Number One just keeps going. 

“He’s an admirable man, but I’m not sure I can live up to him.” Grace opens her mouth to speak, expecting to still be cut off. Thankfully, he doesn’t start speaking yet. It leaves her enough of an opening to get her thoughts in. 

“I was thinking more of Martin Luther," she says, “the _original_ one.” Number One’s eyebrows, somehow, travel even further down his face. They curl up like little blonde caterpillars. 

“Do you mean Martin Luther King’s _dad_?” he asks. 

“No. I mean Martin Luther.” Luther’s eyebrows do not return to a normal position. “The founder of the Lutheran Church?” His eyebrows still do not return to a normal position. He clearly has no idea what she’s talking about. 

Grace isn’t sure if the issue here is that she knows too much or that the children know too little. It’s always a bit hard to parse there, as she doesn’t know any normal humans to gauge her own family against. 

“Would you like for me to tell you the story?” she asks. Number One frowns. 

“Aren’t I a little old for stories?” he asks. She smiles sadly. Number One has always been so eager to grow up and be his father’s perfect team leader. Her most dutiful child is growing into a dutiful adult. She smiles sadly at him as she puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Not the whole story, then. Just a summary.” Number One nods stiffly. 

“Martin Luther used to be a Catholic priest when the Church was in charge of everything. The church was doing a lot of things that he didn’t agree with, but no one ever stood up to them because they were too powerful.” Number One nods again, less stiffly this time. 

“But Luther decided that he could try to fix things, so he broke off from the church.” Number One’s eyes widen. 

“He did _what_?” 

“He started his own church,” she says. There were a lot of steps in between, of course, but she doesn’t think that Number One wants to hear them. It also wouldn’t make nearly as effective of a story. Number One frowns. 

“What are you saying?” he asks cautiously. 

“Sometimes there’s strength in not doing what people tell you to, Number One,” Grace tells him. Luther frowns. Then he lifts his hand to his chin, and he frowns again as he strokes it. There are thoughts rustling around in his brain, and Grace hopes that they’re the ones that she’s trying to jostle. 

“I see what you’re saying, mom,” he says. Grace smiles at him. 

“So?” she prompts gently. 

“Sometimes we have to go against government regulations to do the right thing with dad! Just like Martin Luther and the Catholic Church!” Grace feels a cold feeling settling over her as she realizes something: he’s not going to understand this unless she explicitly says it. He might not even understand it _if_ she explicitly says it. 

And she couldn’t say it anyway, because her programming might not make her _think_ Reginald is perfect, but it sure makes it hard to outright say anything about that. Whenever she tries to say something insulting about him that isn’t incredibly roundabout, she feels her vocal mechanisms freeze up on her. 

So, Grace decides that this is a fight that she can’t win. If her little soldier boy’s going to snap out of it, it’s not going to be here and it’s not going to be now. She smiles a little wider than normal. 

“So do you want to be Luther?” she asks. If her tone sounds a little frantic, it’s not like anyone’s going to notice. 

“Definitely,” _Luther_ tells her. She keeps smiling. At least for a moment, it’s genuine. Luther starts to lean in for a hug-

BEEP BEEP BEEP 

Luther jolts back from the hug as the siren blares. Luther chuckles and salutes her instead. 

“Duty calls!” he chirps. Then, he nearly skips out of the room. 

Grace sighs. She can lead a horse to independent thought, but she can’t make him think. 

\+ 2. Five

  
  


It's quickly approaching her children's thirteenth birthday, and Grace has picked out a name for Number Five. The only obstacle still in her way is getting him alone.

Number Five teleports instead of walking. He teleports to the dinner table. He teleports outside. He teleports into his room. He teleports _out_ of his room when he wants to avoid talking. All of this is a long winded way of saying that Number Five is slippery. She also thinks that Number Five is avoiding her.

After days of trying to track him down, Grace knows this for sure. She has to follow him up the staircase and then grab onto his forearm to get him to stand still for a moment. He jolts his head back, looking to her in horror.

"Mom, what the fuck?" he asks. She lets go of him for a second and lets him turn around. Then she reaches for him again and grabs his arm in a vice grip.

"Language," she chides.

"Fuck off," he says, which she decides means scolding his language today won't make her any progress.

"Alright," she says, "use the language you want." He looks at her cautiously. _His father_ certainly would never say that he didn't care if Number Five cursed. Out of all of the children, Number Five was the one Reginald scolded the most often because he had the highest expectations him. With his intellect and his teleportation powers combined, Reginald thought Number Five would make his greatest successor.

Not that he'd ever tell Luther that, though. He has to keep his Number One loyal, after all. 

"Mom," Number Five says, irritation slipping into his voice, "let go of me. I don't like teleporting with other people." She frowns at him.

"Why do you need to teleport?" she asks. Number Five rolls his eyes.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks. He yanks his arm. If Grace were anything but a robot, he might have jostled her grip. As a robot, though, she just holds him tighter.

"Please," she says, "I just want to talk." Number Five glares at her.

"Well, I don't," he says, "let go of me."

"I just want to give you a name," she says, tilting her head in confusion. All of the other kids wanted a name; is Number Five really _this_ opposed.

"I don't want one," Five growls. Grace lets go of his arm.

"Can you tell me why?" she asks. She hopes that he'll be more inclined to talk to her once he knows he can teleport out if he wants.

"Dear old dad doesn't think we're people," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, "when I grow up and get the fuck out of this house, I want everyone to see that."

"Oh," Grace says. She's never considered refusing to get a name could be a way to express oneself. Grace doesn't think she likes it.

"I have one picked out for you," she says, "don't you want to hear it?"

"Not particularly," he says, rolling his eyes, "your names are stupid or preachy or they come from TV shows." Once, when she was freshly programmed, Grace accidentally stuck her hand into the fireplace and melted the false skin off of her body. She had felt something like pain as the plastic of her circuits melted together and fell off of her body.

Her heart feels like that right now.

"I chose Isaac for you," Grace says softly. Five’s nostrils flare. He holds an accusing finger in front of him and his lips curl into a snarl. He even takes a step forward onto the stair right in front of her to get as close to her face as possible. 

"I don't want that," he growls.

Heart meet fireplace."You didn't even ask why I chose it," Grace says, her voice shrinking in on itself.

Five balls his pointed hand into a fist and then digs both of them into his pockets. He tilts up and down on his tiptoes anxiously. “It’s not hard to guess, mom,” he says, making loud and angry gestures with his hands, “it’s for Abraham and Isaac, right? Dad found me with a Jewish family, so that’s not a wild fucking guess.” 

“That is where it comes from, but you didn’t ask _why_.” 

“It’s a story about blind obedience, mom. I know what you’re saying.” Number Five turns around abruptly, taking a quick and heavy step. It looks like he’s going to storm out of the room. Grace is just relieved that he was so angry he didn't think to teleport.

“Not in Judaism,” she tells him. He glares, but he’s still looking at her- daring her to continue. 

“In Judaism, the moral of the story is that Abraham was wrong.”

He looks confused. “What do you mean?” he demands.

“The moral in Judaism is that Abraham should have decided _for himself_ that what his god told him to do was wrong." Number Five’s eyebrows furrow, then the knowledge settles over him. 

“Oh,” he says. 

Grace nods. “Sometimes people are wrong, even gods.” 

“Even fathers?” Grace smiles softly. It’s against her programming to outright agree, so a smile and a nod is all that she can manage. Five smiles right back at her; their little secret, sealed with a smile.

“Alright,” he says, “I can be Isaac. But just for you. No one else can know." Isaac-Just-For-Her holds out his hand for a pinky swear.

Grace smiles as she holds out her own pinky. “It can be our little secret.” She thinks that this childish promise-seal is done with irony. Still, she holds out her pinky and lets him hook them together. Then, Isaac-Only-To-Her grins and takes off the other way, dissolving into a portal at the end of the hallway. 

  
Grace smiles sadly. All of her seven children have names now, even if not all of them will use them. Or understand them. Or understand how terrible and strange it is that they even had to ask for them at all. She holds her hands in front of her, and gently fiddles with the apron in front of her skirt. Grace hates that things are the way that they are. She’s not human, and she knows that this isn’t good for them. But the walls of her programming pin her in so much she can’t do much about it, even if she knew how to fix it. 

More than anything, Grace hates that she barely understands humans and she’s still her children’s best parent.


End file.
